The store is a place that just sells tuxedos, nothing else. It amazes me that a place can stay in business with that going on. I mean, aren’t we in the middle of a recession? Can the economy really support a tuxedo store? Is there such high demand right now for tuxedos?
I guess there is.
The clerk there, Michael, a well-spoken man with slicked back hair and a crisp white shirt, greets us at the front door, and has apparently been expecting us. He leads us to the back, and shows us a black tuxedo. “This is a standard black tuxedo, cut slimmer through the shoulders, chest and waist,” Michael explains. “It has high peak lapels, satin details, and one button closure. As you see, it has long sleeves, four button cuff detail, welt chest pocket. The welt hand pockets have satin trim and pick stitched detail, while the interior welt pockets are fully lined.”
John just stares at him. I bet he couldn’t repeat a single word of that. “That sounds fine.”
“Excellent,” Michael says, whisking the tuxedo away. “Shall I take your measurements now, sir?”
“Uh…” John says. “I guess.”
Michael pulls out his tape measure from his pocket and picks up a clipboard. He frowns down at John. “Would you be able to stand for me? Just for a minute?”
I’m not entirely sure how Michael could think that John is able to stand. I mean, he’s clearly putting in some effort to sit up straight in his wheelchair.
“No,” John says tightly. “I can’t.”
“Could your nurse here help you?” Michael presses him.
The assumption irritates me even more than Michael’s original question. I see a weariness in John’s eyes as he shakes his head no, but doesn’t say anything to correct him. So I take it upon myself to speak up. “I’m not his nurse,” I say indignantly.
Michael frowns again, then looks between the two of us. Suddenly, his eyes widen. “Oh! I’m so sorry.”
Well, it’s clear that Michael now thinks we’re an item. But somehow, that doesn’t bother me as much. I don’t correct him, anyway. And neither does John.
Michael looks thoughtful. I find it hard to believe that in all his years of tuxedo making, this is the first client he’s had who was unable to stand. “Do you know how tall you are?”
“About six foot one,” John says.
Michael writes down a note on his clipboard. “All right, let’s see what I can do…”
Michael measures the length of John’s legs with his tape measure, as well as the width of his shoulders. He even manages to get the tape measure under his armpits and takes a measurement around his upper chest.
“Can you hold out your right arm for me?” Michael asks.
John lifts his right arm, but his elbow stays bent at close to a right angle. Without him asking, I gently take his arm in mine and straighten out his elbow. It doesn’t go entirely straight, as it turns out. It seems stuck at about twenty degrees shy of a straight line. But Michael figures it out.
“Okay,” Michael says. “The last measurement we need to get is your waist. Could you… are you able to lean just a bit forward for me?”
“Kirby,” John says to me. “Do you think you could help me lean forward?”
I remember the day that he asked me to help him escape from my treacherous couch and how I refused him. Back then, I felt really uncomfortable around him and the whole thing just frightened me. I certainly can’t say I feel uncomfortable around John anymore—he’s become one of my closest friends. But now I find myself hesitating for different reasons—reasons I don’t entirely understand.
“Sure,” I finally say.
I bend down and John reaches out to put his arms around my neck. I barely have a chance to brace myself before he falls against me. His head is very close to mine, and for an instant, I feel the stubble on his chin graze my jaw. I smell the clean scent of his shampoo emanating from his dark hair. And I realize why I was hesitating a moment ago.
Something inside me stirs as I feel John’s chest pressed against mine. It occurs to me that it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen my fiancé. But it’s more than that. It’s not that I want a man—I want this man. I want him so bad, it’s painful.
Christ, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m engaged.
Michael, of course, isn’t ready with the tape measure, and it takes him a minute of fumbling while I hold John in place. Finally, he gets the measurement, and I release John back against the backrest of his chest. John’s brown almond eyes meet mine, and I wonder if he felt what I felt. Whatever that was.
Chapter 27: John
You’d think at a tuxedo store, they’d be better prepared.
In fact, knowing that Kirby was coming with me, I called in advance the day before. I talked to the owner of the store, a guy named Sidney, and explained my situation to him, just to ensure everything would go smoothly.
“You’ve had other clients in wheelchairs?” I asked him.
“Of course!” Sidney said, as if affronted by the question.
“I’m not going to be able to stand up to get measured,” I pointed out, because you’d be surprised how many people think that even though I’m in this chair, I could still get up somehow. I know there are people in wheelchairs who have the ability to stand, but I don’t think it’s a fair assumption to make.
“No problem, Mr. Yang,” Sidney said.
Of course, then when I actually get to the tuxedo place, Sidney is nowhere in sight. Instead it’s some guy named Michael who has no knowledge of my conversation yesterday with Sidney and I know it’s going to be a problem.
First, Michael thinks Kirby is my nurse. That hurts. I mean, what the fuck? Just because I’m disabled and I’m with a beautiful girl, that means she’s got to be my nurse? Then again, why do I even get worked up over stupid shit like that? It happened enough times with Becky. Becky was my nurse, my friend, my sister—anything but my girlfriend. We used to laugh about it. I don’t know why it was funny back then but it isn’t right now.
Christ, I’ve really gotten bitter.
It’s all okay though, for the most part, until Michael wants me to lean forward.
I know that sounds simple, but it isn’t for me. I have zero muscles in my trunk, so I rely on the high backrest of my chair for support, and I’m constantly using the strength in my arms to push myself up and make sure my posture doesn’t suck too badly. Leaning forward for a measurement is not going to be easy for me. Leaning forward a few inches takes more trunk control than I have (since I have zero). If I lean forward, I’m going to fall forward all the way, and have to use the strength in my upper arms to push myself back up.
I’m not excited about explaining all this.
“Kirby,” I say quietly, “could you… do you think you could help me lean forward a bit?”
As I ask the question, I realize for the millionth time how absolutely stupid my crush on Kirby is. I can’t even lean forward on my own. The thought of her being overcome with lust for me so bad that she’s got to dump Ted is laughable.
Part of me is almost hoping she’ll say no, but instead she says, “Sure.”
I put my arms around her slender neck. I allow myself to lean against her, and I can’t help but think that at this moment, she probably feels very much like my nurse. I close my eyes for a minute, trying not to think about what’s going on, but the coconut scent of her shampoo is doing tricks to my brain. Her body is so soft and warm against mine.
I want her so bad, it physically hurts.
When Michael finishes up his measurement, Kirby releases me and I lean back again in my chair. I readjust my body, shifting my weight in the process. Our eyes meet briefly and I get that jab of pain again in my chest. I want her. I can’t even kid myself this is a stupid crush anymore. I’m fucking head over heels in love with this girl. And it’s so frustrating, I wish I could punch a wall.
Chapter 28: Kirby
“So I heard about your adventure at the tuxedo store.”
My heart leaps at Ted’s ques
tion. My cheeks turn pink and I curse the fact that we’re doing facetime instead of talking on the phone. But then I look at Ted’s face and realize it was an entirely innocent question. As well it should be.
“Oh,” I say. “Right.”
Right. We were just looking at tuxedos. Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.
“That’s so great, Kirby.” Ted’s smile touches his light blue eyes. Which I can’t help but think aren’t nearly as nice as John’s dark eyes. “I really appreciate you doing so much to help John out.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal though,” he insists. “I don’t know how he’d manage all this without you.” He laughs lightly. “Truthfully, I don’t know how he manages anything anymore.”
I frown at Ted’s comment. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “He can’t move most of his body. I still can’t figure out how he’s able to live on his own. Or drive… Christ, that’s a scary thought.”
Well, it is scary, actually—I still feel terrified every time John weaves in and out of traffic, but only because he’s so damn aggressive—he’s a real Jersey driver. That’s not what Ted means though. “He manages fine.”
“I don’t think I could do it,” he says. “I mean, if I were in Johnny’s shoes.”
“I’m sure you’d figure it out.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No way. If I ever got paralyzed like that? Honestly, I’d kill myself before living like that.”
My jaw drops open. “How could you say that?”
“You don’t agree?” He raises his light brown eyebrows. “Practically everything he does is this huge struggle. And… Christ, I don’t know how he can look in the mirror and have the nerve to go out in public.”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think he looks… fine.”
More than fine. John is hot. When he smiles at me, I melt in a way I’ve never quite felt before. I don’t even think he realizes how cute he is. And those sexy eyes…
I guess Ted doesn’t realize how cute John is either, because he laughs. He actually laughs. Not in a mean way, but like what I said was so ridiculous, I must be making a funny joke. “Come on, Kirby. Everyone stares at him every time he goes out. Hell, even I feel uncomfortable being in public with him since he got hurt. It’s like woman-repellant.”
I remember Ted telling me that John got injured shortly before he left for California. That makes sense—the majority of their friendship took place when John was still able-bodied. Ted hardly knows his friend as a disabled person. He has no clue how capable John is.
“Then why do you want him to be your best man?” I ask.
Ted finally has the good grace to look embarrassed. “John’s my oldest friend. I’ve known him my whole life. If I didn’t make him my best man, I know he’d feel hurt.”
I doubt that, actually. I think John would like nothing more than to be released from his best man duties. But it’s too late now.
“Maybe he’ll meet a girl at the wedding,” Ted says hopefully.
I glare at him through the iPad screen. “I thought you said he’s woman repellant.”
“Kirby, I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighs. “You know I want Johnny to score. I’m sure… there’s got to be a woman out there who will like him in spite of the way he looks. He’s a great guy aside from that.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “He is a great guy. He’s even going to come by to taste the wedding cakes that we’re making at the bakery.”
“That’s awesome.” Ted grins at me. “Tell Maxie hello for me.”
I get this nauseated feeling in my stomach, one that I’ve been noticing more and more lately. The feeling that makes me think maybe I don’t know my fiancé nearly as well as I should. He doesn’t even know the name of my aunt—the woman who has been my parent and practically my best friend since college. “You mean Minnie.”
“Right. Minnie. Of course.”
And all I can think to myself as I force a smile for FaceTime is that Ted and I maybe shouldn’t be getting married so soon.
And maybe not at all.
Chapter 29: Kirby
“You, me, tonight, burritos,” Amy says into the phone before even saying hello.
I groan and tug at the waistband of my jeans, which are spotted with flour. “What are you doing to me, Amy? Burritos? I’ve got to fit into a wedding dress.”
“Are you kidding me, Kirby?” Amy huffs. “You don’t need to lose weight.”
“We can’t all be stick figure drawings like you, Amy.”
“Are you kidding?” Amy says. “You have the best figure of any woman I know! I’d kill for your boobs.”
I roll my eyes at the phone. “You don’t really want these monstrosities.”
“I do!” she says. “You think any woman wants boobs that are essentially mosquito bites?”
“They are not.”
“Yes, they are,” she insists. “Kirby, if my boobs were any smaller, they’d be dimples.”
I laugh, because it’s sort of true. Still, I’d still take that over my chubbiness. I’m like the “before” version of Amy in some weight loss commercial. It’s embarrassing. The only saving grace is that she drapes so much clothing over herself that you can’t tell how model-thin she is.
“Fine,” Amy finally grumbles. “You, me, tonight… um, salad.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I’m supposed to have dinner with John.”
“Again?” Amy makes an angry noise on the other line. “What’s going on with that? You’re always freaking hanging out with him!” She pauses thoughtfully. “Seriously, is there something going on I don’t know about?”
“No,” I say quickly. Hopefully not too quickly. There isn’t, anyway. “Why don’t you come with us?”
She’s quiet for a minute, then surprises the hell out of me by saying, “Okay.”
I nearly drop my cell phone in surprise. Which would suck because I’ve already got a crack in the screen and I don’t need another one—I can’t afford another phone on my bakery salary. Maybe I really should start stripping. “Okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I think I better meet this guy that you’re spending all your time with.”
That’s so unfair—I’m not spending all my time with John. I mean, before tonight, the last time we hung out was… well, I guess we hung out last night too. But why shouldn’t we hang out? John is really fun.
“I thought you didn’t want me to set you up with him,” I remind her.
“I don’t,” Amy snorts. “Did I say I want to get set up with him? I just want to meet him. God.”
I don’t mention to Amy how turned on I was by touching John the other day. There’s definitely nothing to be gained by that.
Chapter 30: Kirby
I wait until John and I are sitting in the bar in Hoboken and have ordered drinks to mention that Amy is joining us. His almond eyes fly open and he grabs the wheels of his chair like he’s going to take off.
“You’re setting me up!” he says in an accusatory voice. “I can’t believe this. You promised you wouldn’t.”
“This isn’t a set-up.”
“The hell it’s not, you liar.”
“It’s not,” I insist. “She just wanted to meet you. Like, in a totally non-set-upy kind of way.”
John keeps shaking his head, like he’s still thinking of taking off. “Does she know I’m in a wheelchair?”
“Yes, she does. But it doesn’t matter because it’s not a set-up.”
He makes a big production out of how pissed off he is, but you know what, I think there’s part of him that’s a little excited. He attempts to smooth out his hair, and I can tell he’s trying to sit up straighter in his chair. The dark color of his sweatshirt complements his hair and eyes, and he actually looks incredibly cute right now. I wonder if maybe Amy and John will hit it off and something really might happen.
A
nd that would be great. Really great. I mean, yes, I admit that I’m having some feelings for John. But those feelings don’t mean anything. I’m marrying another guy, after all. I’d be happy for John if he fell in love with Amy.
I think I would be, anyway.
Amy appears a couple of minutes later, looking somewhat like a drowned cat. Apparently there was a flash thunderstorm during her walk from the path train to the bar, and she was caught without an umbrella. Her only saving grace is that she wasn’t wearing any make-up as usual, so it didn’t get ruined.
“I feel like I’ve just been in a swimming pool,” Amy announces as she plops down into the seat beside me. I can tell she’s in a cranky mood, not that I blame her.
“Amy, this is John,” I say. “John, this is Amy.”
Amy glances down at John’s hands and is smart enough not to offer hers. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he says back.
This is going as well as it possibly could.
“So,” Amy says as she strips off her wet jacket and shakes out her short hair. She splashes water on me only slightly. “Kirby says you’ve got the same shitty taste in movies that she has.”
I expect John to go on the offensive the way he did with me when we first met, but instead he grins at her, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Wonderful,” Amy says. “Now I never have to see another terrible movie with her.”
Hey, he didn’t get all pissy with her. No fair!
“I swear to God,” Amy goes on, “I could live the rest of my life without ever seeing another John Waters movie.”
I watch John’s face carefully and I don’t see even a spark of anger. “I think I’ve got that covered. No problem.”
Amy seems disappointed that she didn’t get more of a rise out of him. Why is John being so pleasant tonight? Does that mean…
Does that mean he likes her?
Chapter 31: John
I believe Kirby this isn’t a set-up. Because if it is? Worst. Set-up. Ever.
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